Overheard in a Dream (36 page)

“I think I could have blanked out that bleak prediction, but then came exams, the end of term, the Christmas break, and, with the start of the new term, my grades. I’d been dreading them because I knew I had been spending far too much time with Fergus and not enough studying, but on opening the envelope, I was forced to acknowledge things were much worse than I’d thought. I had failed the microbiology course.

“I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the paper containing my grades. My blood turned to ice. What was going to happen if Dad and Marilyn found out? My parents had no inkling of my academic decline. Indeed, my family knew very little about my current life at all, because it had been ages since I had been home. I’d avoided contact, because how in heaven’s name would I explain Fergus? All these years Marilyn had so
wanted me to have a boyfriend and now that I genuinely had one, what could I say about him? That he earned his living as a psychic? That he was planning to become the Sun King after the apocalypse?

“How had all this happened? How in eighteen months had I gone from being the shining star in Betjeman’s heavens to failing a critical course I needed to graduate? Sitting there at the kitchen table on that dull January morning, I attempted to recreate that sense of awesome yet innocent joy I’d felt when I’d pulled Torgon into my mind during classes or lab work, and tried to see what I was learning from her perspective. I couldn’t feel it now. I couldn’t even remember how it felt.

“Classes these days were a pain, something that got in the way of what Fergus wanted me to do or interfered with my work at the Tuesday night group. Over the previous six months I’d started charging for the channelling advice on Tuesday night – just a little bit, just a small fee to help out with expenses, because I was hardly what you would call rich. Besides, Fergus had said I should. It gave the whole thing a more professional aura, he said. And no one objected. In fact, I now had more people coming to see me at the Tuesday night meetings than ever before. It made the commitment greater, however, as I had to make extra time to see the extra people.

“I stared at the letter and realized that somewhere along the line I’d turned into someone I didn’t know.

“Picking up the telephone, I dialled.

“Tiffany answered. She said, ‘Laura? Is that you?’

“‘Yeah, it’s me.’

“‘You sound funny. Do you have a cold?’

“‘Something like that,’ I replied and wiped the tears out of my eyes.

“‘Are you calling to talk to Mum and Dad? Because if you are, you’ve missed them. They just went to the store to get groceries. Cody’s at hockey practice.’

“‘That’s all right. I was just calling to hear familiar voices. You’ll do.’

“‘Geez, Laura, that sounds like a really bad cold. Did you catch it at the hospital?’

“‘Guess you could say that.’

“Then silence. Tiffany was chewing gum. The smacking sound carried better across the continent than her voice.

“‘What’s been happening there?’ I asked.

“‘Not much. Dad’s been taking me and Cody up skiing most Sundays. That’s about it. I’m getting pretty good. You ought to see me.’

“‘Yeah, I wish I could.’

“‘How come you didn’t come home at Christmas, Laura? I missed you. It’s been forever since you’ve been home.’

“‘I was busy.’

“‘At the hospital?’ Tiffany asked.

“‘Just busy.’

“‘Mum says you have to work really long hours to be a doctor.’

“‘Yeah, something like that.’

“‘I was thinking I might be a vet,’ Tiffany said, ‘but I’m kind of changing my mind. I wouldn’t want to work all the time and never get to see my family.’

“‘Yeah, well, probably animals aren’t as bad as people.’

“‘Are you crying, Laura? You sound like you’re crying.’

“‘No. It’s just a really bad runny nose. Listen, Tiff, I was thinking … do you want to come visit me sometime? You know, like maybe during your spring break?’

“‘Wow!’ Tiffany screamed into the phone. ‘Really?
Really
, Laura? That’d be brilliant! I’d
love
to.’ A pause. ‘Would you ask Mum and Dad today? Call back later? When they get home from the supermarket and ask them? ’Cause I’d just love to!’

“Beyond me came the sound of the key in the door lock. Fergus walked into my apartment.

“‘Listen, Tiff, I’ve got to go. There’s someone at the door. Bye-bye.’ I hung up quickly.

“‘Who was that?’ Fergus asked.

“‘My little sister.’

“‘What are you talking to her for?’ His voice sounded vaguely suspicious.

“‘Because she
is
my little sister.’

“‘Did she phone you?’

“‘Does it matter?’

“‘She’s a kid, isn’t she?’

“‘Yeah, she’s twelve.’

“‘So what did you want to talk to her for?’

“‘Because she’s part of my family, Fergus.’

“He peered closely at me. ‘You’ve been crying.’

“‘No, I haven’t.’

“‘What’s the matter?’

“‘Nothing. Really.’

“He studied me more intently, his dark eyes holding my gaze.

“‘Okay, so I was,’ I said. ‘But I’m fine now.’

“‘Why were you crying?’

“I shrugged. The paper containing my grades was lying open on the table. I didn’t want to call his attention to it by flipping it over but I didn’t want him to catch sight of the university logo either.

“‘You haven’t been meditating,’ he said.

“‘I
have
been meditating.’

“‘How about those yoga exercises? Are you doing them?’ he asked.

“‘Some of them.’

“‘But not all of them.’ He frowned. ‘This is the whole problem, Laura. You are not committed. I don’t want you to spend time talking to your family. We’re reaching an important period here and you’re starting to bring up a lot of difficult emotions from your past lives. They won’t understand what you’re going through, so talking to them is only going to draw this stage out for you.’

“I could feel the tears rising again, so I turned away and went to the window.

“‘Laura, relax. I can sense your tension from here. Calm down. You don’t
want
to feel this way, do you?’

“‘No.’

“‘So take a deep, slow breath. The way I’ve taught you.’

“I did.

“His voice softened. ‘Come here. Come over here and sit on the floor with me. I’ll massage your shoulders.’ He opened his arms.

“At the sight of that loving gesture, I couldn’t keep from crying any longer. ‘Everything’s falling apart,’ I said. ‘I don’t know which way to turn.’

“‘To me,’ he said so tenderly, pulling me in against him. ‘Not to some kid sister. Not to Betjeman. Not to any of them. They can’t help you. Only I can do that, my queen. Because no one else loves you like I do.’ His voice went honey sweet. ‘Don’t go to them. Only
I
know. Only I can help. Only I love you.’

“I wept.

“‘So, relax now, my sweetheart. Relax. Feel your muscles. Here. They’re like iron, aren’t they? Let’s do some of the exercises. I’ll do them with you. Rotate your neck. Like this. Follow me. It’ll release the tension. Now lift your shoulders up.’

“I was crying so hard. I couldn’t stop.

“Leaning forward, Fergus placed his hands on either side of my face. ‘Here, give it to me,’ he whispered. ‘Give me your pain. Let me share your burden.’

“Fergus’s hands were very hot. They felt good against my skin, as he held my face and watched my contorted grimaces. Through them flowed the enormity of his love for me. Really. I could feel it. It surrounded me and absorbed my distress. Even in the depth of my despair I grew aware that no one, ever, had loved me with the strength that Fergus did.

“‘Come to me,’ he said and pulled me close into his arms again. He kissed my forehead, my wet cheeks, my hair and held me close as a baby in the womb. ‘You’re safe,’ he murmured. ‘I have you. We’re together again and nothing ever, ever will part us. I promise you that. I promise with my life that I’ll protect you forever.’”

“I
want a cowboy hat,” Conor announced when he came into the playroom. He crossed over to the dressing-up basket. Selecting the cowboy hat, he clapped it on his head. “He’s my son,” he said to no one in particular. “I don’t want him to go away.”

Conor looked over at James. “Daddy’s strong. He lifts me up. Hands under my arms. ‘Up, up.’ he says. And I go up. Daddy laughs. I felt his breath.”

“You’re enjoying the things your father does,” James reflected.

“Yeah.” Conor crossed over to the table. “My mother isn’t strong. She doesn’t wear a cowboy hat. She said, ‘He needs to go away.’ But Daddy said, ‘No, I don’t want that.’”

James smiled.

“I wasn’t here last time,” Conor said.

“No, you didn’t come.”

“I was sick in the night – I threw up. Three times. Messy on the floor. My mother said, ‘He needs to go away.’ My mother cried. Tears running down her cheeks,” Conor said
and pulled a finger over his cheek. “Daddy said, ‘He can stay with me. If he is sick on the floor I’ll clean it up.’ But I wasn’t sick again. I was well then.”

He turned. “Where’s the mechanical cat today?” He went to the shelf and picked up the box. “Here you are. Where’s your stand? I’ll put it on your stand so you can stand up and see.” Coming back to the table, he set the cardboard cat down and pushed it over towards James’s notebook. “Here. The mechanical cat will read what you write today.” Then he took off, trotting around the room in a sort of half-skip.

“You seem happy today,” James ventured.

“Today’s the day I come here. Today’s the day I spend with the mechanical cat.” He swooped down on the table and picked up the cardboard cat. Excitement overtook him and his body went momentarily rigid. “Read me the poem.”

James paged back through the notebook to find Conor’s mechanical cat song. He read it aloud.

Still tense with excitement, Conor fluttered his fingers at the small cardboard form. “You’re strong. You’re brave. No ghosts. You know there aren’t any ghosts here. You tell me, ‘Boy, You’re safe with me! I can see all the ghosts but there are no ghosts to see. Boy, you can do anything in here. You can be yourself.’”

“The mechanical cat makes you feel safe and strong,” James remarked.

“I don’t need my wires. Did you see? I have no wires on today.” Conor pulled out his shirt to show that the usual coil of string and foil was absent.

“You’ve decided to be an ordinary boy today.”

“Yeah. My strong father says, ‘You don’t need these. Leave them at home.’ I don’t need them. Nothing happens. The
mechanical cat says, ‘You don’t need them. You’re strong too.’”

Setting the cardboard cat down on the table, Conor veered off towards the easel. “Today I’ll paint. Finger-paint. Coleman School Supplies Blue. I’ll do blue. I haven’t done blue.”

James rose to help him get the materials ready. Once the newspapers were down on the table top and the damp paper was laid out, Conor came over to where James was sitting. He put his stuffed cat into James’s lap. “No accidents this time!” He laughed.

Conor tackled the painting with enthusiasm. He seemed to have less interest in actually painting than in dumping paint on the paper, because he kept adding to what he had. Around and around he sloshed it, lifting the excess paint up and letting it drop back onto the paper.

“Now yellow? Coleman School Supplies Yellow?” he asked, raising his head to look at James.

“Yes, you may add yellow as well, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Yes! That’s what the boy wants to do. And in here, if the boy wants, the boy does!” he said with relish. A glob of yellow paint joined the blue. The two colours together formed a rather ghastly green.

“This paper is wearing out. It has a hole,” Conor said.

“So it has.”

“I’ll put it over there. I’ll take a new piece.”

“Can you put water on it yourself?” James asked.

“Yes, I can do it!”

James smiled at the child’s budding confidence.

While Conor was carrying the paint-soaked paper over to the counter beside the sink, the wet weight in the middle
proved too much. The paper broke and the excess paint spilled onto the floor. Conor jumped back in surprise but he didn’t lose control. Indeed, unexpectedly, he laughed.

“Look! Sick! The painting says, ‘Too much in my stomach. Throw up on the floor!’”

“Yes, it does rather look like that.”

“Who will clean it up?”

“Shall I help you?” James asked.

Conor regarded the splatter of paint pensively. “She says, ‘He needs to go away. He’s too much for me.’ She’s crying. Tears running all down her cheeks.” A pause. “Sorry, Mummy,” he murmured in the tiniest voice. “The boy wants to say that, but his stomach feels sick. He wants to say, ‘Be strong. Don’t cry. Don’t let tears come down your cheeks. The ghost man will come. He will drink your tears.’”

James had risen from his seat to come and help, but he paused, not wanting to disturb Conor’s thoughts. Conor looked over. He reached his arms out for the stuffed cat.